What Friends Are For
by missDuncan
Summary: Challenge. Set between S8 and S9. It's Friday. Grace is working at the CCU. Alone. It's getting late...


Challenge rules: Set after Endgame. One scene at Grace's office. The rest outside London. Must contain the following words. screw, damage, golf, tradition, Sunday and shelter.

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Huge thanks to Joodiff and Got Tea for all their support and gentle nagging that keeps me going on and to Joodiff for doing the Beta.

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**Friends Are For**

The sound of a faint a knock on her office door startles her. Looking up from the report in front of her on the desk, Grace Foley runs a hand over her cheek, catches the arm of her glasses and removes them. She's been lost to the world for hours, systematically working her way through what seems like an endless amount of reports. During her illness and her convalescence, the number of reports in need of her signature and approval has accumulated. Nothing important, nothing urgent, but still files she must read and sign before they're archived.

She's been away from the office for far too long, but now... Now she's finally back. Back full-time – give or take – and she really wants to get to the bottom of the pile of all the old stuff. Most of it now is the final odds and ends in need of sorting.

A warm feeling flows through her at the thought. It's hard, but it's great to feel alive and to feel that she belongs to the team again.

The squad room is almost in darkness, Grace notices as she gazes around her, only illuminated by the dim light shining through the windows separating the main room and the corridor outside. She wasn't aware of the time. Kat and Spence are long gone, Eve hasn't been at the office today, and Boyd's been absent too – budget or HR meetings at the Yard for all she knows. They haven't seen much of him during the last week, but now the man himself is standing in her doorframe. That certainly proves how absent-minded she's been.

"Why are you still here, Grace?" Peter Boyd is regarding her with a tired but puzzled gaze. "Go home."

Sitting up, she presses her hands into the small of her back, stretching painfully with a soft sigh. Sinking back down her chair, she sends him a faint smile, points towards the different piles on her desk, and replies, "I wanted to get through all this. Get it over and done. The afternoon was so nice and quiet – besides, I lost track of the time."

"And who exactly, nags you for it all?" Tilting his head slightly, he raises an eyebrow. "I know I don't..."

Throwing her arms out, she surrenders with a quiet chuckle, muttering, "Me, I suppose. I like my desk clean."

"Clean, she says, surrounded by loads of knick-knacks," he immediately retorts with a loud snort, casting a telling glance around her office. "Call it clean again... "

"I like my office the way it is, thank you very much, with all my personal touches," Grace replies, not at all offended, "but, anyway, I'd prefer to get all this old paperwork done... I've got check it before Kat gets it to archive, but it reminds me of all the time I've lost being sick. I want to get past that. Want to move on and be able to close that particular door for good." Attempting to change the subject, she then asks, "What's the time?"

"Late... definitely late." Slowly, Boyd nods. Looking at her suspiciously, he asks, "Have you eaten?"

Shrugging, feeling a bit foolish, Grace shakes her head. "No, I forgot, I suppose. Not very hungry though." Pausing, she studies him. He looks totally drained. Almost like he's given up... "You look exhausted, Boyd... bad day?"

"You can say that again..." Stepping inside the office, he strolls slowly towards the couch, slumps heavily down. Running his fingers through his hair, he stretches his long legs out in front of him before he leans back, resting his head on the back of the coach.

Curious, she inspects him intensely. Eyes closed, more lying than seated. This is so _not_ like him. Quietly, she asks. "What's wrong?"

Opening his eyes, Boyd stretches his neck to be able to view her without lifting his head. Casting her a dull glance, he pouts. "Long days, Grace, long days." Slowly turning his head from side to side. "Endless meetings about budgets, the latest crap from HR, not to mention the newest politics at the Yard. Having to sit face-to-face with the upper echelons... you name it. Hell and purgatory combined in one... Definitely _not_ what I signed on for."

"Nothing new there, then," she responds with a chuckle. Sobering, she continues, stating, "To be fair, that's part of your job, isn't it?"

"Not helpful, Grace." With a deep growl, he presses his head harder against the upper part of the backrest, apparently attempting to find a more comfortable position and closes his eyes again.

He seems to settle. Seated – or lying – there. Totally inactive. Doesn't move a single muscle. Only his chest rises and falls with his breath. After regarding him for a long time in silence, Grace attempts to ease his apparently gloomy mood. "Don't you dare sleep on my couch." There's no response, and she adds a bit more sharply, "Boyd."

"Eh?" Lifting his head, he opens an eye with a slight smile. "Getting too old for this kind of shit... I'm going home. You should too... " Nothing happens though. He doesn't move. She isn't used to seeing him like this. Normally, he's so energetic. Always full of a forceful fighting spirit, ready to punch back. Something is seriously wrong here... Gently she prods, slightly afraid to overstep a line, "What's wrong, Boyd?... Surely, something is bothering you..." He doesn't answer, doesn't react at all. "Tell me, Peter, please."

Exhaling forcefully, he sits up, leans forward, puts his elbows on his knees and buries his face in his hands. "We're so fucked... "

"What do you mean?" Grace inquires softly. He looks so lost. Beaten even. It really worries her.

"Everything is so fucked up... The fucking scumbags well and truly screwed me." Throwing his head back, he eyes her with a wounded, burning gaze. "Screwed _us_. They're removing Kat. They've refused to let us keep her. No matter how I argued and fought for her..." He turns his gaze away and the broad shoulders drop down before he whispers, "She's returning to her own unit at the beginning of next month."

"What? Left us a team member short again?" No wonder he looks so devastated. "At least it's a better way to lose a colleague..." Not able to finish the sentence, she squeezes her eyes close for a moment to compose herself. Mel… Stella… they're certainly not the best memories to be dwelling on.

"Don't go there, Grace. Don't go there," Boyd emphatically spits, shaking his head.

It breaks her heart to see him like this. All her instincts as a mother rise in her chest, but he won't appreciate being mollycoddled. Leaving her desk, Grace takes the few steps to his side, sits down beside him. Shoulder by shoulder – as best she can, given their different heights – mirroring his position, elbows on her knees, but turning her head towards him. "Nothing you can do?"

"Believe me, Grace, I tried. I really tried..." Roughly, he rubs his hands over his face. "Damn it! I like that girl." Twisting, he turns towards her as he goes on, "She got balls, I'll give her that, but she really must have pissed somebody off. Well and truly... No matter what I said or how much I pointed out that we lack a DS or a DC in the unit, Maureen-bloody-Smith knocked me back. She really hates me. Wants the CCU closed down, but she's not such a bitch that she'd transfer her dislike of me to Kat. It really must be something she's done herself. She's too headstrong for her own good. Too often she's a huge pain in the arse but she's a damn good detective and she'd done well in the CCU. She even gets on with Spence... " Laughing shortly without any mirth, "and we all know how hard that is."

Leaning into his shoulder, gently nudging it. "I'm sure you did what you could," she whispers.

"Obviously not enough." Boyd sinks back again like the sudden outburst of energy is seeping away.

For once, Grace is lost for words. Doesn't know what more to say or how to comfort him. Her head's spinning with all the new information about their work situation; the consequences it might have on the team. Losing a third of their detectives will certainly have a huge impact on their team, but then they've managed before. Will do again if needed. Right now, though, the biggest issue is how low-spirited Boyd seems to be.

Leaning forward she places her palm over his hand. "You can't shelter us all, Boyd."

"Hmm," is all she gets. He just sits there, totally drained apparently.

"Where are they transferring her to? Back to Serious & Organised, or to Response where we got her from?"

"Response, I believe," he answers tiredly. "They probably offered her old job in S&O to somebody else..." He pauses, then adds with a snort, "Apparently _they_ couldn't afford to lose a member of their team..." Thoughtfully, he scratches his beard. "It leaves me with the problem of when and how to tell the poor girl..."

She squeezes his hand in comfort and they sit together in silence, neither of them seemly knows what more to say.

Eventually, Grace whispers. "You will have to tell her, Boyd. Soon, or... "

"Oh, don't I know it!" he snaps angrily. Exhaling forcefully, he continues with less passion in his voice, "First thing Monday morning. Has to be done or somebody else might tell her. Sorry, Grace." He sends her a weary smile before rubbing a hand over his face. "I'm getting too old for this," he mutters.

Suddenly, he seems to have gathered some energy and he gets to his feet and reaches down to her. "Come on, Grace. Time to go home. We both need some sleep."

Smiling fondly, she takes his hand, letting him help her up. "Not too old... just getting softer around the edges as you mature Boyd," she teasingly retorts. "Maybe you're right. It's been a long week. I'm tired too."

"Bollocks," he murmurs but fetches her coat from the hanger. Gallant as always, he helps her into it, then follows her across the office. "Now, go home, Grace. Enjoy your weekend. Get some rest." Patting on her shoulder, he gently pushes her towards the door.

Halfway through the doorframe, Grace says, mildly mocking. "No shame in leaving a party... "

"When you're been thrown out." Boyd completes the sentence. "'Night, Grace."

Hesitating, she turns her head and catches his eyes over her shoulder. "Only if you promise to go home now too?"

Briefly, his hand rests softly on the upper part of her back, then moves to her shoulder and squeezes it gently. "Believe me, I will... no intention of staying late tonight. Not in the mood... "

For a moment, they stand in silence, gazes connected before she sends him a faint, very tired smile, nodding. "Night-night, Boyd."

* * *

But the sight of Boyd - exhausted and devastated - is not easy to erase. It follows Grace through the evening, haunts her through the night. Saturday morning, after a restless night filled with nightmare-like dreams, she wakes up, feeling more exhausted than the day before.

Weary and tired to the bones, she spends more time under the shower than usual, letting the hot water cascade down her body in the vain hope it'll somehow wash away the feeling of being completely drained of energy. Her mind is still occupied with thoughts of what to do. She's determined to help – only, she doesn't know how. Just like Boyd, her many connections at the Met don't include fast-track-officers, those who end up among – _are_ – the higher echelons, she ponders, and sadly, a lot of the upper brass would certainly prefer to see the back of him. She's fully aware of that.

Her head is spinning with thoughts running wild. Dizzy, leaning her forehead against the cooling tiles, she closes her eyes, willing her mind to go blank. Facing her normal weekend-routines like shopping and house cleaning is simply a no-go. The current situation is far too serious and she fears all the damage it will do to – not just to Boyd, but to the whole team.

Annoyed, lifting her right hand, she brushes her hair away from her face. Support and sympathy are what she can offer. But knowing what she wants to do is one thing. To do it is something completely different. Calling Boyd won't do, she ponders. He'll thank her for her kind thoughts, then dismiss her with a laugh, telling her not to worry. But maybe... just maybe, she's got an idea about where he might be.

Resolutely, stepping out of the shower, Grace grabs a towel, wraps it around her body and heads towards her bedroom. Time to get dressed. No doubt he'll be in a terrible state – stressed just like her, but probably worse, speculating like a madman how to regain power over his team, how to handle the current situation best. He probably didn't get much sleep either. Her heart aches for him. The last few years haven't been easy for him. First Luke's then Stella's deaths. Her own sickness really hit him hard and finally, the case with Linda Cummings. Not the case itself as much, but her abduction affecting him most, no doubt. He failed to protect her and that hurts him more than anything else. And now he can't protect Kat... a wrong move or word from him and the whole situation will be screwed beyond redemption... and with a temper like his, it's likely to happen, she broods.

Soon, Grace finds herself in her car, warmly but simply dressed with a cardigan under her coat, heading south-east. It won't be a quick drive but she has no idea what else to do. There's a beach. A place on the Isle of Sheppey. Once, on a sunny Sunday afternoon in the autumn during her convalescence, he took her there for a walk along the water's edge. It was a special place for him, he told her back then. A personal sanctuary from his childhood. He went there every time he was in need of solitude and time to think. A place that could still his demons. Provide him with some peace of mind.

Eventually, she passes the Sheppey Crossing and heads directly towards Minster. If he isn't there she's lost. It is a long shot but her best – if not her only – opportunity.

A sigh of relief escapes her, as she immediately identifies Boyd's car as one of the two parked at the car park near the Leas. Swiftly parking her car beside Boyd's, she notices how tense she is. Her arms shake and her fingers hurt when she releases her grip on the steering wheel to turn off the ignition. The moment she steps out of the car, a fierce, cold wind whirls around her, making her shiver. She buttons up her coat, heads towards the beach, burying her hands in the pockets, deeply regretting she forgot to bring a scarf and gloves with her.

Striding against the wind, she reaches the beach and immediately she sees him in the distance. Tall, wide-shouldered and solidly built. Never could she mistake his striking silhouette for somebody else's, she muses.

Whether it's the sight or the cold wind that makes her shiver, she doesn't know but her heart suddenly beats a little bit faster and a warm sensation spreads throughout her body as she starts to walk towards him.

Boyd doesn't seem to notice her. Doesn't move. He just stands there, not dressed as she's used to see him but casually in jeans and some kind of outdoor jacket, facing the wind, gazing out over the unruly waves. Finally, when she's only a few feet away, he turns his head, catching her eye.

"What the fuck are you doing here, Grace?" he exclaims.

A few steps more and she's positioned shoulder-to-shoulder with him, mirroring him, facing the sea. "I felt like a day at the beach," she comments nonchalantly with a slight shrug.

"Bollocks, Grace. You and nature don't go together, particularly not when the weather is like this." Scowling, he raises an eyebrow in question. "Keeping an eye on me, are we?"

She doesn't answer but settles with a vague noncommittal, "Hmm."

None of them speaks another word, and together they stand a long time in silence. Finally, she gives in, admitting, "I was worried."

"Whatever for? That I would do something stupid?" He snorts. "Give me some credit, Grace."

"The state you were in last night... You looked so downcast. Depressed and defeated. Let's face it, the last few years haven't been easy on you, Boyd. Luke's death. Stella's." Biting down her lip, Grace hesitates briefly, not sure how frank she should be, before adding, "I know how much my illness affected you – not to mention the Linda Cummings case." Pausing again, she steps even closer to him. Tilting her head slightly, she studies him to see how her words affect him as she gently states. "And now this... this thing with Kat. I know how much you want to help her... " The words trail off in the wind.

Boyd looks down at her, smiling wryly. "No need, Grace, no need to worry. I know my limits." Shaking his head, he laughs hard and humourlessly. "Do you know Maureen Smith and the bloody Dyson woman are members of the same golf club as the DAC? Apparently, they all play together most weekends... " A dark shadow passes his face, his jaw clenches and he throws his arms out in a gesture of despair, exclaiming in a voice laced with venom, "Who can fight that and hope to win?" He turns towards the sea again, growling, "Even I wouldn't dare..." Exhaling forcefully, he drops his shoulders. Raising a hand, he trails his fingers through his hair, gazing up at the sky, stating. "I know I have to admit defeat, Grace." Repositioning himself away from her, he once again faces the horizon, remaining like there, motionless and quiet. He appears relaxed, his face blank, no emotion visible. She has no clue what he's feeling. He's impossible to read – even for her.

Reaching out, unsure what to say or do, she places a gentle hand on his arm but with no effect. He doesn't react to her and – after a moment – she lets her hand fall, faces the sea like him, asking softly into the air, "What will you do?"

"Hmph." Shifting on his feet, his tall body sways slightly back and forth as he apparently searches for the right words. "Sooner or later, those two old hags are going to drive me crazy. They want my head, and at some point, they'll get it – probably sooner than later."

"And you'll just sit put and wait for the blow? That's not like you, Boyd," Grace says, wrapping her arms over her chest, trying hard to prevent her body heat from disappearing with the wind swirling around her. She's definitely cold to the bones now.

"Did I say that? I think not." Scratching his chin thoughtfully, he carries on, "But as I can't win this game, I better quit while I can."

Astounded by his words, she manages to stutter, stepping closer to him, "But... you're not ready to leave the Met, are you?"

Snorting, he gives her a look from the corner of his eye. "Not quite yet but I'm getting there."

His admission astounds her. Trying to take in this new information, her eyes follow a little crab stumbling along the water's edge and she doesn't pay attention to what's happening around her. Suddenly, she feels a tight grip on her upper arm as Boyd reaches for her, pulling her a few steps backwards as a wave, bigger and more powerful than the others, threatens to wash over their feet. Off-balance, she staggers a moment. He doesn't let go of her but keeps steadying her until she regains her equilibrium.

"Christ, Grace, you're not dressed for this." Stunned, he stares at her, sliding his hands up and down her arms, attempting to provide some warmth. "What did you think you were doing, going to the beach on a day like this, dressed in a thin jacket? Nature really isn't your thing, eh?" Shaking his head, muttering something about women and lack of common-sense under his breath, he removes his scarf, wrapping it around her neck. "Have this – you're shivering." Adjusting it, he indicates with his head. "Come on, we'll better walk back to the car before you catch your death."

Thanking him with a smile, they start walking, side by side, back to the car park. Soon Grace feels an arm sneaking around her back, a big hand palming her shoulder, squeezing it gently. Warm and reassuring. Looking up, she searches his face, asking, "Are you okay, Boyd?"

He slows their steps until they completely stop. Pirouetting on the spot to a position right in front of her, he looks down, very sincere. "Let's face it, Grace, I'm an old-fashioned cop. My time is more or less over." A deep sigh escapes him as he shakes his head. "I don't get all the crap about modern policing... Don't get me wrong. Parts of it make sense..." The head-shaking changes into a nodding, as he goes on with a soft chuckle, "... A lot in fact." He starts walking again, increasing his speed as his words get more agitated. "But it's like justice and crime-solving matter less nowadays." With increasing disgust, "It's their bloody policies and statistics that matter the most."

"Boyd!" Unable to keep up, she calls out, trying to slow him down.

"Too fast for you, eh?" he mocks, sending her a boyish grin, but offers a hand in support.

Catching his hand, Grace seeks his eyes, needing to know his intentions. Has to ask. "What about you, then? And what about Kat - what can you do?" Clasping his hand reassuringly, she rephrases. "What can _we_ do?"

"Not much," he reluctantly answers, his voice lined with sadness. "She needs guidance – and freedom. She can easily burn her fingers with that temper of hers. But she is a damn good police officer. So much potential. She'll go far up. If – and only if – she gets the right conditions. But," all his energy seems to evaporate, "I could provide her with that. In the CCU... there, she could be sheltered and survive while she matures and finds her feet. One wrong step and she'll probably never be anything but a PC or she might even be kicked out of the force due to her insubordination, poor girl."

His stops talking, exhaling forcefully. Seems to will himself to relax, calming his mind. "I'll talk to her first thing Monday morning," he continues, "tell her that her removal is against my wishes but it's out of my hands. Let her know, she can call me – any of us, if you like – any time for advice but it might not be the wisest thing to do as things are at the moment." Noticing she's shaking now from the cold, he wraps his arm around her again, pulling her tight, shielding her as much as possible against the cold wind. "For fuck's sake, we need to find somewhere in this God-forsaken place where we can get you some tea. Get you warm before you catch a cold."

Reaching the car park, Grace suddenly stops, looking bewildered. "We've got a problem, Boyd."

"Eh?" He gazes around, not understanding what's bothering her.

"Two cars, Boyd. Two bloody cars." She giggles. "I totally forgot we drove down here separately."

"Minor problem. Forget it, Grace," he growls, not stopping but immediately taking action, almost commanding. "Get into my car." Unlocking his car, he leads her to the passenger door, opens it and guides her inside. "At least, the seats in _my_ car are heated."

Soon she finds herself snuggled like a cocoon into a blanket he fetches from the boot. Sitting together in silence, she relishes feeling the comfort of the heating in the car. Eventually, as her body temperature returns to normal, she decides to press on, asking again the essential question that he never answered: "But what about you, Boyd. What about _your_ future? You never answered that... "

"I'm not ready to throw the towel – to give in and hand in my notice," he almost sneers, then raises a placating hand, apologetically. "Not yet, but I'm getting there... " He stares out of the windscreen and starts to explain. "It's not like it was back in the day, is it? We don't have the cosy moments where the whole team just sit, chatting about anything and everything. We don't go to the pub together or have a curry almost as a family." Rubbing a hand over his face, he sighs. "Now it's a good day when Spence is just grumpy. Eve mostly stays in her lab most of the day – as far away from the rest of us as possible. It just isn't the same. I know that Spence isn't happy. He wants his own command – not sure he's ready for it, or ever will be, but that's his problem. If that's what he wants, he should go for it... see how that goes. Best of luck to him," he says with a scornful shrug. "Eve loves her job in the CCU. The riddles. The mysteries. All the tests she can perform in the search of the truth. It challenges her on so many levels, but she can easily find herself some other fulfilling job and be happy somewhere else." He stops talking, briefly letting his eyes follow a flying seagull. "You... You! I don't want you to disappear out of my life... to another job... or retirement, or something else." Turning towards her, he reaches for her hand, gently letting his thumb draw circles on her skin. "Today, you proved what a good friend you are, driving all the way down here on a whim... "

"That's what friends are for, Boyd, " Grace responds sincerely, turning her hand in his, squeezing it. "Besides, you were so much more than a colleague to me during my illness and convalescence, it's the least I could do."

"But you knew where to find me..."

"It was a calculated risk, I admit," she snorts with laughter, "I was pretty sure, though, that I was right." Her fingers intertwine with his. "I was afraid to lose you."

"You won't get rid of me so easily," Boyd retorts with a wicked grin. Sobering, he adds. "You and I are so much more than colleagues. I'd like to explore the depths of it, how far we want to go – I'd gladly go all the way, Grace, and I hope you feel like that too. If you're warm now, get back into your car. Let's find a place to have lunch and discuss our future."


End file.
